


Paul's Games

by arrowsshootyouforwards



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Hunger Games, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 18:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrowsshootyouforwards/pseuds/arrowsshootyouforwards
Summary: Paul Stamets is 18 years old and his name couldn't be in the bowl any fewer times. Still, he is unlucky enough to be chosen to represent District 3 in this year's Hunger Games. While in training he meets a trainee medic with a habit of humming who gives him one more thing to fight for.





	Paul's Games

Paul felt what little colour he had, drain from his already pale face, and his blood ran cold as his own name echoed in his ears. He felt the other teenagers around him backing away to put distance between him and themselves. All but one. Straal, his best friend, snapped him out of his terror by placing a hand on his shoulder, forcing him back to the present rather than the boring picture that was his brief life flashing before his eyes. The peace-keepers, eager to continue with the reaping ceremony were beginning to close in. Locking eyes briefly with his best friend he saw the sympathy and loss, already settling in.

Expelling a frustrated breath, he stepped towards the centre aisle where he was escorted to the stage where the female tribute from his District was already there, dried tear-tracks on her cheeks. She’s maybe 13, her second reaping, but he had no idea how many times her name was written on slips in the bowl. Paul was 18, this had been his last reaping. Had he been born a few weeks earlier he would have missed this reaping. Should he survive so long, he’ll spend his 19th birthday inside the arena. The noise fades into the background as the ceremony continues, he only really comes back to himself when he is made to shake hands with the sobbing girl and is ushered into the Justice Building.

He’s pushed into a room and left alone, soon his family will be escorted to see him, but for now he was left. Paul was not optimistic about his future. He was from District 3, where they made electronics for the Capitol. He had been working in the factory for the last few months since finishing school. He turned sharply when the door opened, and his family were ushered in.

His mother, father and older brother filed into the room, his brother hugged him. His mother hugged him next, refusing to let go, Paul was the youngest in his family, only having an older brother, Mark. “Try,” she begged him, “try to come home to us,” Paul’s parents had struggled to conceived children, Mark had been a blessing, Paul had been a miracle.

“I will, I’ll try all I can,” he promised, never wanting to leave the safety of his mother’s embrace. All too soon a peace-keeper entered and removed his family, the screams of his mother would haunt him until his end, which he figured wasn’t too far away. Paul was left alone briefly before Straal strode into the room. They hugged tightly, as if it would be the last time. Straal was removed and Paul was escorted to the train. He watched out of the window of his cabin as they left the District.

The representative from the Capitol told him to clean up and help himself to anything in the cabin before dinner. He entered the bathroom and took a shower. He’d never had a shower before, and the water had never been so hot, unless his mother had boiled it in the winter months. He dressed in something from the dresser and left the cabin. He found he was the first person in the dining car, there was an expensive glossy table, laid out with fine china. The furniture looked so foreign, it was so upscale, Paul had never seen anything like it.

He turned as another person entered the cabin, it was the host from the reaping, the girl from his District trailed behind her. The host sat at the table, encouraging them to do the same, they were joined by two previous winners from their District, both getting on in age and looking past their time. District 3 didn’t have many previous winners. These two were the last alive, he knew one would train him and one the girl. He realised he didn’t know her name, thinking it had been his last reaping and with little chance of having his name pulled out, Paul had zoned out through the reaping. He learned through listening her name was Abigail. She was the oldest in her family, with four younger siblings. She was the only one eligible for the reaping and had taken tesserae to feed her starving family.

Paul’s family were lucky, he nor his brother had ever been forced to partake in the tesserae to survive. His name had been in the minimum amount of times and he had still been dragged into this. The trip to the Capitol happened mainly overnight. He heard Abigail screaming through the night and rushed to her aid. She’d had a nightmare, the reaping playing over and then herself and Paul being executed there and then to save time. Paul had never seen himself as good with children, but he calmed her with a story his mother had told him and his brother as children and tucked the blanket around her shoulders before retreating back to his own room.

They arrived in the Capitol shortly after breakfast, citizens crowded around the tracks, cheering and applauding the arriving tributes. As District 3 they arrived early and were taken to a building where a medical team were prepared to check them over and assess them. Paul wasn’t sure why; a tribute had never been excused for poor health or even disability. Paul was isolated in a room, waiting for his check-up. A young man came in and by young man, Paul’s mind thought boy. This was not a full-grown man, this was a child with a scanner. There was no way they were near the same age, he thought. On top of his young appearance, he rubbed Paul the wrong way as he hummed to himself through the examination. Eventually, Paul had to say something. “Seriously, what in God’s name are you humming?”

“I take it you aren’t familiar with Kasseelian Opera,” he said, smiling to himself.

“As it happens, no. It’s not something we hear a lot in my District.”

“Well you’re good to go. I’m Hugh by the way.” The young man stuck out his hand and Paul shook it, thinking why not, it wasn’t like he would ever see the kid again. But his meeting struck Paul, and stuck in his mind. He and Abigail were briefly reunited, re-separated and stripped naked so they could be ‘made pretty.’ Paul planned on blocking the following 2 and ¾ hours from his memory as people he had never met before prodded, waxed and made comments about his body. He was given a robe and made to wait for his stylist for the procession. Tributes were dressed in something to represent their District. District 3 were used for technology, Paul found himself dressed in a silver bodysuit, with circuit board patterning and his headpiece resembled a TV antenna. Abigail was dressed the same as him and they were positioned on the chariot.

Beside him a tear rolled over Abigail’s cheek, none of their mentors said anything, so Paul took it upon himself. “Hey,” he said in a hushed, soft voice, “don’t let them see your tears, they won’t care, turn that sadness into anger and give them hell when it counts,” he said. He wasn’t made for giving advice, but she brushed the tear away and a make-up artist came and covered the tracks with silver dust. Their chariot was set in motion and they followed down the pathways. Paul encouraged Abigail to wave to the crowds, as he did, their mentors had encouraged them to be ‘likeable’. It was a hard thing to consider when they were likely to die in a matter of days and their audience would soon be willing them to become murderers.

The following week was a blur to Paul. They trained every day, Paul kept to himself during the day, but on a night helped Abigail with her nightmares. They were getting worse the closer the games drew, he just hoped, should she not survive, that she did not suffer in the process. Though he thought this prayer would fall on deaf ears. Paul was talented with a blade, and he excelled in identifying poisonous plants and fungi. That was where his specialty laid. His father had taught he and his brother as many wild fungi grew through the District and curious children could be lost at an age where everything went in their mouths. He noticed no other than Abigail paid heed at the poisonous plants, he thought about how he could use this to his advantage.

On an evening he returned to their floor of the training building where the medical team checked him over, checking he hadn’t done damage to himself. This was a more pleasant part of his experience. The chief medic for their team had a trainee, his son, Hugh who was 17 and training to take over from his father. Paul recognised him the moment they were introduced, and the boy smirked. Paul was taken with him, finding his usually snarky self, stunned to silence before him. Someone who had snarked back, it wasn’t something that happened often. Hugh and his father were staying on their floor through the training period, and Paul had gotten to know Hugh he thought well-enough.

The night before the games began after the scoring, he and Hugh spoke as late as they dared, Paul needed his sleep. Before he bid goodnight, outside of Paul’s room, Hugh tentatively pressed their lips together and withdrew quickly. Paul cupped his cheek and pulled their lips back together. Feeling wetness, he withdrew to see Hugh’s cheeks damp, “Hugh?”

“I just wish you didn’t have to go tomorrow.”

“Me too. I- I’m glad we got to spend this time together though.”

“Me too. Goodby- Goodnight Paul.” They kissed once more, slow and lingering, savouring each other.

Paul leaned against the inside of his door, blinking back tears. He didn’t regret letting Hugh in, it just gave him something else to fight for.

The following morning Paul dressed in the clothes provided after breakfast. At the table Abigail was quiet and she looked pale. He tried to encourage her to eat, food could be scarce in the games, neither of them knew where their next meal was coming from. They were separated after getting dressed, escorted to a ship which would take the tributes to the arena. A medic injected a tracking device into his arm. They were taken to their pods underground in the arena, Paul’s mentor gave him some final advice. Paul had his strategy, he had made alliances, he wasn’t foolish, he knew he couldn’t do this alone.

The careers had seen him doing well with the food training, training none of them had bothered with. They recruited him. He knew they would plan on killing him later, he just had to be smarter than they were. And he would. He had so much to fight for. They rose into the arena and Paul locked eyes with one of his ‘allies.’ He nodded, bracing to sprint towards the centre. Their deal had been they would keep him alive through the bloodbath and he would keep them alive.

The arena resembled a forest, plants grew wildly, and the cornucopia laid in the centre of the platforms. The countdown began, the wind whipped around him, he lowered to a crouch, prepared to run to avoid being knocked off by the wind and blown to bits. The tribute from 5 wasn’t so lucky two platforms down, the boy was so skinny the wind overpowered him, knocking him to the landmines.

The countdown ended and the tributes raced towards the centre, some engaged in hand to hand combat, Paul raced ahead and began throwing weapons to his allies as they approached. He took a set of throwing knives and threw them at tributes who were not intimidated into running. He struck one girl in the leg, the one from 9 if he was correct and the Career from 1 finished her off as she lay immobilised. Not everyone stayed to fight, others had run, some had dared go after the supplies strewn about.

Cannons blasted as tributes died in the clearing, some suffering, others passing quickly. Paul spotted some poisonous mushrooms. As the cannons silenced the careers and the others they had recruited began checking the bodies and rounding up the supplies. Spotting something he had truly hoped he wouldn’t, Paul wandered over to a body. He sighed. It was Abigail. She was still alive and based on her injuries she would remain that way for a while. He knew if one of the careers spotted her they would have ‘fun’ as she died, torturing her for all they could. Seeing more of the poison he discretely picked it and fed it to her apologizing, it wouldn’t be painless, but it would be quick and there was nothing else he could do for her.

Being sure to clean his hands, Paul began foraging as the others organised their supplies. He gathered the non-lethal plants and made note of where the dangerous ones were. As he had assumed, they didn’t trust him, making him test the food he served in front of them. They weren’t idiots, but neither was Paul. He knew he could never take a career in hand to hand, but he was smart with cooking, his mother had taught him well while his father tutored his sons in knowing what they could and couldn’t live off when food was scarce.

On their second night they heard the jingle of a parachute, following it to where it landed. The boy from 1 opened it, reading the note enclosed. “Happy Birthday – H.” Paul lied, being fortunate that his mentor’s name also began with an H, saying it was from him. He split the cupcake, as a way to gain their trust and continued to try and integrate into their pack, but social skills were not his forte and he ended up isolating himself. It suited him, he guarded the supplies while they went out killing tributes. One of them would bring him back animals they had killed so they could all eat. Paul too set up traps, though he wasn’t sure what animals would be roaming around the arena. In the evenings he watched the parade of the dead, making note of who was still out there. He needed to pick his moment carefully to take them down, he couldn’t be deemed their biggest threat, or they would kill him in his sleep.

He planned carefully, prepared the meal like any other. They wouldn’t have any warning, he regretted that he couldn’t make it more painful. He watched as they ate, scarfing down the rabbit and mushroom stew having already watched Paul eat his own portion. Through the night, the cannons sounded one by one as their hearts stopped, leaving himself and two others alive. He had the advantage and the supplies. He received a parachute the next day from a sponsor. In an early day he had cut open his hand when throwing a knife to frighten off someone who wanted to steal supplies. He’d kept it clean and wrapped but it was still yet to heal. The cream provided healed him overnight, there wouldn’t even be a scar.

Before morning he heard another cannon.

2 left.

Paul and someone else.

He couldn’t remember who else there was. Through the morning he put up defences around the camp. He was sure they were from either 7 or 12. He was also sure it was a male. While he thought, he prepared to fight -should it go that far, lacing up his boots. A twig snapped, catching his attention, reaching to his left he picked up his knives, following the sound. Preparing a knife, he watched as the tip of a sword came around the treeline. The other tribute came into view, 7, Paul thought to himself.

The boy made no move to go closer, seeing how heavily armed Paul was seemed to make him pause. Paul smirked, throwing a knife in the air and catching it, daring him to strike. He watched, waited for his opponent to put one foot wrong. One foot where he could be the victor. Before too long, he did. Paul smirked, readying his knife as he followed the footfalls to the perfect spot. _Just a little further_ he thought. _Perfect_. Aiming quickly Paul threw his knife. The other tribute smirked as it missed his foot, digging as deep as it could into the soil.

The bleep gave it away all too late when the landmines he had extracted from around the platforms detonated in a chain, taking the other boy with them. Paul took cover, protecting his head. In the distance a lone cannon sounded and a voice congratulated Paul, announcing him the victor.

A ship lowered, catching Paul in a tractor beam, lifting him out of the arena. Paul remained silent as an official removed his tracker before the medical team were sent in to assess him for injuries. Once he had been OK’d, he was left alone, a familiar face skirting around the door. “Paul?” A soft voice asked. For the first time, Paul lifted his gaze from the ground, finding Hugh.

“Hugh,” he slipped forward from the bed, into Hugh’s arms. He didn’t cry, he figured he was too dehydrated for it to happen. That evening Paul was congratulated by his team, he’d spent the last few hours being ‘re-beautified’ to the Capitol’s standards. Paul didn’t respond much, but he was thankful Hugh remained by his side. In the night Hugh was drawn into Paul’s room, where he lay in a fitful sleep. He woke in a cold sweat as Hugh entered the room.

“Paul, slow your breathing,” he soothed, “that’s it, just like that,” he said.

“Stay with me?” Paul asked, lifting the cover. Hugh slipped under the covers, curling around Paul’s shaking form.

Hugh was allowed to attend the celebration with Paul and the rest of his team the following evening, where the president of the Capitol congratulated the victor of the Hunger Games. Paul was given a speech to read, thanking the people of the Capitol for their generosity through the Games. Hugh could tell it was hollow and there was no real meaning to it, but Paul had plastered on a smile, the one that had gained him favour in his previous interviews.

Paul and Hugh spent the night together one last time before Paul was to return to District 3 and his family and friends. In the privacy of his room Paul and Hugh kissed goodbye. It wouldn’t be their last meeting. Paul’s victory tour would begin in a few weeks, and Hugh and his father would be along for the ride as medical staff. They would have many days together, only interrupted by Paul making speeches to the Districts. Paul’s lips lingered against Hugh’s. He wasn’t sure how he would cope without Hugh there with him, but so far, he hadn’t been made to find out.

Eventually they were forced to come out and Paul was made to leave. Hugh stood in the crowds, waving him off at the train station.

Paul’s arrival back in District 3 was not the discrete return he had hoped for. He was pulled up onstage in the Square, where he was congratulated and given the keys to a home in the Victor’s Village. He was informed his family had already been moved there. Finally when he arrived at his new home, where he was pulled into his mother’s waiting arms and he allowed himself to break. His mother, father and brother all surrounded him and held him.

Being back in his District was hellish. He didn’t return to the factory, there was little point when he would be dragged back out and paraded around in the coming weeks. For the most part he did not leave the house, preferring to stay with his mother and away from other people. His mentors came around a few times, to check on him. He had an alright relationship with them. And it was nice to see a familiar face.

The only other visitor he allowed for him was Straal. Straal was only 17 and had another year and another reaping to sit through. Paul tried to push the thought to the back of his mind. His nightmares persisted through the long nights as winter closed in. The start of the tour loomed and while it was good to see the people he thought he never would again, he was counting down the days until he could see Hugh again.

“I met someone,” he said one day to Straal. “In the Capitol. He was part of the medical team, in training with his father.”

“What’s his name?”

“Hugh. We grew close before the Games and afterwards, he just kept me grounded while I was still in the Capitol.”

“You like him?”

“I don’t not like him. He caught my attention, it was stupid, you know. He was running checks on me when we first met, and he actually annoyed me.” Paul remembered fondly and explained how they met.

“You’ll have to introduce me. A man who can stun Paul Stamets to silence, I must meet him.”

“Maybe one day you will.” Paul didn’t believe in superstitions like jinxes, but if he did, he would come to a day where he wished the meeting had happened under better circumstances and that he had not tempted fate.

Paul was collected from his house in the evening the night the tour began, where the host of the talk-show asked him mundane things, like how it was to be back and if he was looking forward to the tour. Paul remained in character as he answered the questions and was escorted to the train, where he said a final farewell to his family.

Paul asked where his room was, he had already eaten and claimed a headache with need to lay down. In his room he was greeted with the back of a familiar head. Hugh turned, hearing Paul enter and walked forward. Paul pulled him close, expressing how much he had missed Hugh. He didn’t know why he was so affected by Hugh, but he felt better when he was around. Paul kissed him, backing up against the closed door, where they remained glued to one and other for an unknown amount of time.

Paul slept in Hugh’s arms for the first time in weeks, and for the first time since the Games, the nightmares remained at bay.

The tour was brutal.

And that was putting it politely. The career Districts were furious Paul had defeated their tributes and Paul had to be removed for his safety at each one of them. He had particularly hard days when he spoke to the Districts of tributes where he himself had a hand in their death. Not so much the careers, they were bred for the games, no, the others, like 7, who had he not booby-trapped the ground, would have won in his place.

Hugh was a Godsend throughout. After difficult Districts they retired to his room where Hugh held him until they were needed for debriefing and supper. Paul never really had much of an appetite though.

Finally, they arrived at the Capitol where Paul shrank away from those who wanted to celebrate his victory. He wished he could reach out and take Hugh’s hand, but both of them thought it too risky, they came from completely different worlds and while the team thought it was sweet what was going on between them, they did not know how the public would react.

It was on the talk show when the penny dropped, that they weren’t as discrete as they had hoped. The host showed a picture of he and Hugh hugging after he had been taken off stage for his safety in District 2. “Who is this young gentleman? There have been numerous sightings and the public are thrilled and dying to know. You wouldn’t hold out on us now, would you Paul?”

“On you? Never,” he stated, he was in character again, showing the people of the Capitol what they loved, a charismatic and grateful winner.

“So, come on, is he from your District?”

“No, not exactly,” he and Hugh met eyes, and Hugh nodded, suspecting Paul was seeking permission. “He’s a medic in training, going to take over from his father for District 3. What can I say? I was quite taken by him. Gave me that little bit more to fight for in the Games.”

“So you like a guy in a uniform, do you think it would work for me? They say I’ve been single way too long,” Paul and the audience laughed good-naturedly with the host as the interview continued. They were going through all of his key moments in the Games, from his mercy kill for Abigail to his final victory. The group defeat of the careers was a proud moment for him, he could talk about mushrooms for hours. “Now, level with us, what’s next for you?”

“Honestly, I never expected to get through the Games, and for that I am eternally grateful to all the wonderful people in the Capitol, but I’m just going to take each day as it comes and find my place in the world.” The audience ate this response up, cheering and howling as the show came to an end.

Afterwards, he was reunited with Hugh to go to the party, where they held hands for all to see. The Capitol was abuzz with the story of love between a tribute and one of their own.

Paul’s time in the Capitol was short and he was given the option to stay, offered a dream job, researching mushrooms and their uses. But it would all be for _them_, the Capitol. And Paul would rarely have the chance to see his mother, father, brother or best friend. “Go back to them,” Hugh told him quietly on his last night in the Training Building.

“And leave you?”

“Paul, I’ll be here every year. The old mentors from 3 have announced their retirement, they’ll train you how to mentor next year. You’ll be coming back with them and no doubt the Capitol will be sending for you frequently. I can apply to spend a semester training in any District, for ‘experience’. Be with your family and your best friend. While you can.”

“Thank you,” Paul responded, kissing Hugh.

It was a few years later when Paul made his return to the Capitol to remain there. No tribute he had coached had won, it wasn’t entirely his fault, he knew he had gotten lucky, but still, it was getting difficult as people in the District looked for someone to place their upset on. After his fourth failed attempt at training he accepted the research position that had been offered to him. He was still required to return to the District for the reapings and to train tributes, but he lived in the Capitol with Hugh, in a place they found together after he accepted the position.

He still returned to District 3 on occasion, to visit his aging parents and his brother, who the Capitol said were required to remain in the District. They were permitted to travel once to see him for his wedding, a further three years later. Straal never saw his wedding. Or what Paul made of himself.

He did meet Hugh, but it wasn’t under the best of circumstances. The year after Paul was victor at the Hunger Games, Straal’s name was pulled from the bowl. He managed to get supplies and get away from the cornucopia, but the Careers hunted him down and murdered him in revenge for their own fallen tributes the year before. Hugh held a distraught Paul that night and the many that followed until the Games ended with a Career as the victor.

Paul’s research went well and he developed many previously unheard of antidotes to mushroom poisoning, some of which Hugh found useful as he completed his medical training, writing his thesis on poisons and their antidotes. Every year that passed District 3 didn’t get another victor, many tried, but they never came out on top. Every soul-destroying Games Hugh and Paul suffered through taught them many things and made them stronger.

Paul developed a shell, he went into Game Mode when the Games rolled around each year. He put up the screens and stopped getting attached to tributes. Part of him wanted to give up, but Hugh reminded him, he was all these kids had. Hugh’s family had good connections to the wealthy people in the Capitol, but they were reluctant to sponsor tributes from 3, when Paul was their last victor. They wanted bragging rights, not to help a hopeless case. Paul and Hugh wished they could do more, but it was against the rules for them, as members of the team, to do anything. It was all down to Paul gaining sponsors and there were no interested parties.

Every year, as more and more young lives were lost, Paul prayed for one, any one tribute from 3 to show an ounce of promise. One day, Hugh assured him, his prayers would be answered. The day would come. They knew it would and they knew they would know them when they saw them. Hugh knew first, of course he did. Paul could see it in his eyes as they both perked up at the words “I volunteer as tribute,” that fell desperately from a young lady’s mouth at the reaping of the 52nd Hunger Games.


End file.
